Bedtime story

I have decided to set up an internet diary.
But I can not write one.
If I was a photographer, I would put a picture here.
If I was a violin player I would play something.
I am none of those.
So I will tell you a story.

There was a little bird…
No good. I know nothing about birds.
There was a horse… I know even less about horses.
Should I tell you a bedtime story I told my granddaugter the other day?
It went like this:

“Lidushko, would you like to hear a story?”
“No.”
“But this is bedtime.”
“I want to drink.”
I gave her her bottle. She went on a pot after that. When she was back in her bed again I said:
“What should the story be about?”
“A dog.”
“O.k. A small one?”
“Yeah. A small one. And white and puffy. And it would not bite me. It would only play with me.”
“Good. Like the one we met today?”
“You tell me about it.”
“It was small and white and puffy, and it wanted to play.”
“I know.”
“It had very sharp teeth… But it would not bite Lidushka, it just squeezed her fingers, licked her palm, and after that it jumped and ran around, chasing its own tail…”
“Lidushko, are you asleep?”
“Yes.”
“A black, big cat appeared from around the corner… Lidushko?” Quietness. I wanted to go.
“Doggie,” she murmured.
“But the doggie was not afraid, even if the cat was big and wanted to fight. It went on playing with everybody and soon the old cat was playing too, forgetting that she wanted to fight.”
“Good doggie,” she said, turned on her belly and snored a bit.
“It cheered everybody up. The old sick neighbour, the big fat cat, even me.

Just like you do."

I kissed her hand. It smelled like grass.